


Paramnesia

by stefrobrts



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Case Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 17:17:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6667489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stefrobrts/pseuds/stefrobrts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A car accident on the way to a case may trigger the end of Scully and Mulder's partnership, if it ever existed at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> No Spoilers. Takes place anytime in Season 3 or early Season 4.

She awoke confused, in complete darkness, and freezing cold.

She opened her eyes, and felt her eyelids move, felt her eyelashes pull away from her frost-covered skin, but did not see anything. For a moment she panicked, her hands flailing up towards her face. She caught the slightest bit of movement and realized the only thing stopping her from seeing was the pitch black night. And where was she that it was so dark - and cold? She strained to remember.

Patting her hands over her arms, she felt wetness on the outside of her thick wool coat. Though her fingers were already numb, she concluded it was snow. She shifted and realized she was in an automobile seat. Reaching forward she felt the steering wheel, and her hands found the airbag hanging out of the center of it like a deflated balloon. An accident.

An accident, in the snow, on their way from Seattle to their next case in Wenatchee, WA, They had gotten a late start due to flight delays. Now she remembered. They had to cross over the mountains to get where they were going. Snow had already covered the road when the officers waved them through, just before blocking off the highway for the night in anticipation of a heavy snowstorm passing through. She had lost control…

Mulder.

How had it taken this long to remember him? She frantically reached to the passenger seat, waving her hands over where he should be, but didn't find him. She unbuckled and reached all the way to the door panel on the passenger side, surprised at how gravity was working against her. Clearly the car was sitting at an angle, passenger side up. Her hands followed the curve of the door to find the window was broken out, and snow was drifting lazily inside, covering everything at its own, unhurried pace.

In a panic she reached into the foot well, then into the back seat, using her hands to feel her way around, but there was still no sign of him. She climbed up and grabbed the window frame of the passenger door, hauling herself out until she could sit on the edge of the door and evaluate her situation. Chunky pieces of broken glass fell away from the window frame and clattered into the car. A sliver of a moon was present in the sky, and as gaps in the clouds passed over it, for a moment it lit the ground up faintly. Her dark-adapted eyes took in only smooth snow. She looked up the embankment they had rolled down, towards the road. He could be anywhere. She called him, her voice swallowed up by the snow. She called him again, frightened a little by the desperation she heard in her own voice. What if he was laying out there, injured, freezing, being buried by the snow?

“Mulder?!”

But how could he have been ejected from the car, surely he had had his seat belt on? She reached inside and found the belt, tugging on it to confirm that it was intact and complete. She stared out at the snow stretching out before her, and suddenly had an idea – she could call his cell. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone, blinded by the brightness of the screen as she turned it on. A ‘No service’ message blinked back at her. She looked up the snowy slope again. Just as she was about to climb out of the car to go searching, she saw lights up on the road, nearly a hundred feet up the slope. Red and blue lights. She never thought she would be so thankful to see such a thing.

"Stay put, we'll come to you," Someone shouted down to her.

"My partner," she began, "He’s been thrown from the vehicle."

"We're coming," the voice responded.

She sat on the edge of the roof, looking up at the lights high above, watching the snow drift slowly down, and felt a chill that cut far more than skin deep.

 

\-----------------------

 

"We've checked the entire path of the accident, and outwards about fifty feet in each direction, Agent Scully, and we haven't found anything." The officer handed her a cup of hot coffee that he had poured out of his own thermos, and she took it gratefully. Even sheltered in the back of the ambulance, wrapped in a blanket, she was indescribably cold and shaking, though she self-diagnosed that as being an after-effect of the adrenaline rush of the accident. She sipped it as she watched the tow truck slowly drag the wreck of their rental car over the edge of the embankment, groaning and creaking. Search and rescue personnel and their dogs paced around, discussing the situation. Pink light had begun to color the sky in the east.

The officer climbed up into the ambulance and sat on the bench opposite her, removing his hat and running a hand through his hair. He was tall, and he had to hunch over a bit because of the equipment mounted on the wall above. He leaned his elbows on his knees and leaned towards her, his hat dangling from one hand. "Tell me one more time what you remember," he asked gently.

She took a sip of coffee. "We flew into SeaTac this evening. We picked up our rental car, and I took the first round of driving. We were driving over Snoqualmie Pass, when I believe a tire blew out. I was unable to control the car on the snowy road, and.." she struggled for a moment. "I just can't remember. Obviously we went over the edge, but I don't remember what happened."

The officer nodded.

"Well, they are going to put your rental up on the flatbed, would you like to retrieve any personal belongings before it gets hauled away?"

She nodded, and followed him to the car. He pulled the keys out of the ignition, as she stood looking the vehicle over in the light from the spotlights mounted to the cab of the tow truck. Dents and wrinkles and dirt on every panel indicated the car had completely rolled at least once. He handed her the keys and she looked inside briefly before going to the trunk and unlocking it. She stopped.

"Agent Scully, are you all right?"

"There's only one suitcase." She lifted her suitcase out and looked at the empty trunk. There was no place to hide another suitcase in it. She looked back through the broken window at the backseat. There was nothing there.

"Agent Mulder's suitcase would have been in the trunk with mine," she looked over the edge again. "They didn't find it in the search area?"

"No," he shook his head, a little confused. "The trunk has been closed the whole time. If your suitcase was in there, I don't know how his could have been thrown clear."

She set her suitcase down on the snowy road and walked over to the edge, stopping at the crumpled guardrail which was bent over and torn apart where their car had blasted through it. The slope below was lit by high powered lights setup on the edge of the road. The snow was trampled down and turned over from the search teams who had been crisscrossing it for hours. She scanned over the area they had covered, and searched it herself visually. It did look like they had been very thorough. A pair of hands fell on her shoulders, and, suddenly hopeful, she spun around to look, but it was only the officer come to take her back.

"Agent Scully, I'm sorry, I don't know what to tell you. We're going to continue searching here, but I'd like you to let the ambulance take you back to town now. I'll contact you with an update as soon as there is anything to tell you." She looked back at the slope. Several search dog teams had recovered from their rest breaks and were heading back down into the snow now that the vehicle retrieval was done, the handlers encouraging their dogs to search from the ends of long, loose leashes. The tow truck with it’s flashing lights pulled away and made a big U-turn onto the highway, heading back towards the city with her crumpled rental secured on it’s bed. She finally nodded, reluctantly. “I promise I will call you." He reassured her. She bit her lip, nodded and, with one more glance down the snowy slope, allowed him to gently lead her back to the ambulance.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Mild hypothermia. Some superficial cuts and scratches and minor abrasions from the airbag exploding against her hands. Scully sat on the edge of the bed in a hospital gown, wrapped in a warming blanket, as the doctor went over her chart with her. She shook her head, and explained to him that she needed to get back to the accident scene as soon as possible. It had been hours since she had left.

"Agent Scully?" A new man appeared in the doorway. Tall, with short salt and pepper hair giving way to patches of solid gray at the temples, his dark suit screamed ‘government employee’. She self-consciously pulled the blanket around her tighter. "I'm Special Agent Peters, from the Seattle office of the Bureau. We were notified about your accident, I came to see if I could help you.”

“Do you have any news about the search for Agent Mulder?”

“No, there are no new leads. The police and search and rescue are still examining the scene. I had a few questions for you though."

The doctor gave her a stern look. "How about you get back in bed and answer his questions, then we can talk about releasing you? Give us a couple more hours to be sure you are stabilized. I still suspect a concussion because of your memory loss of the events leading up to the accident. I don't want you running out the door and collapsing." She sat back on the bed and the doctor helped her cover up with the blanket. "When that happens, it looks really bad on us," he joked, smiling. When she didn't react, he shook his head and walked out of the room, leaving her alone with the new agent.

"What do you need from me that will help us find Agent Mulder?" She asked, impatient.

"I was at the accident scene this morning. They haven’t found anything there, but my research has turned up some interesting evidence..in other places."

"Evidence of what?" She asked, puzzled. This all seemed so out of place. Her partner had been lost in a car accident. Obviously he, or his body at least, must be in the snow on that slope below the road. The thought made her sick to her stomach. There was really no other place he could be. Maybe he had been injured but mobile enough to have walked away, maybe he was freezing to death just outside their search area. She barely resisted the urge again to grab her clothes and race out the door. She knew the sooner they found him, the better the chance of finding him alive.

The Agent sighed and shuffled nervously in his seat.

"This is going to be difficult." He began, "Can you tell me more about exactly what happened before the accident?"

"Difficult? How?" She asked, impatient. He remained tight lipped. She nodded, sighing in frustration. She brushed a loose strand of hair back that had fallen across her face.

"Agent Mulder had received a report of cattle mutilations..."

 

\----------------------

 

"Mulder, you're crazy!"

"Hear me out, Scully," He pulled his suitcase off the conveyor belt in the luggage claim area, and spotting hers, grabbed it as well. She took it from him, paused for a moment as he opened a side pocket in his own suitcase and slipped the case file he had been working on during the flight into it, and began walking back through the terminal, rolling her luggage along behind her. The suitcase clacked along over the seams in the tile, and her heels clacked just as loudly as she walked fast. He easily kept up with his longer legs.

"Mulder, cattle mutilations have been proven over and over again to be nothing more than the result of predation caused by normal animals and conflated through the overactive imaginations of the farmers who report them." She didn't even look at him as he walked along beside her. They stopped at a bank of elevators and waited in line behind a crowd of passengers who had just come off of the same plane as they had.

"But, these cases have ALSO been occurring in close proximity to mysterious lights which the locals have been reporting. I think we might have a chance of finding a genuine case of mutilations for a change. Plus," he was interrupted as the elevator arrived and opened, and they squeezed into it with the rest of the passengers, resulting in him being pressed up awkwardly close to her. She rolled her eyes as she looked up at him.

"Plus," he continued, lowering his volume to a conspiratorial whisper, "the animals that were found showed evidence of being stung by multiple bees. They were covered in welts."

"Bees?" she asked, with a note of skepticism.

"Bees," he confirmed.

“In the dead of winter.” she pointed out. He nodded, as if that confirmed his suspicions somehow. She sighed a little. It was very late for this sort of thing, and they were still running on East coast time.

The elevator opened, and the passengers spilled out into the concourse. Mulder began walking towards the rental cars, and this time Scully found herself hurrying to catch up with him.

At the Lariat rental counter she stood next to him as he handed over his government ID and signed the paperwork. One midsize sedan. Same as in every town they landed in. The rental agent handed him the keys and without a pause he slid them down the counter to her. She snatched them up before they had stopped moving.

"I take it I'm driving?" She asked.

"First round. Get us over the pass and I'll take over for the rest of the trip." They walked out the glass doors at the end of the counter and into the underground garage. She led the way, looking at the number on the key fob. They located the car and she popped the trunk, and Mulder stuck his suitcase in, and then grabbed hers and lifted it in as well.

"Need anything else before we get going?" he asked.

"No, all I need right now is a warm bed in a seedy motel, but I have a feeling I won't be enjoying that for a couple more hours at least." Inside the car she fiddled with the seat, scooting it up close enough for her to comfortably reach the pedals.

"Hey, I checked this place out, it's not seedy," he protested.

"Does it have the phrase 'Motor Lodge' in the name?"

"No, of course not." He answered with mock indignation.

"Does it have a colorful, blinking, neon sign out front?"

"Maybe."

"Do they have Magic Fingers?"

"Possibly."

She smiled at the game she knew he was playing with her, and pulled out onto the airport access road. Mulder unfolded a map and directed her out of the airport and in the direction of the mountains. Once they were on a freeway and the map was no longer needed, Mulder folded it up and tucked it in the glove box. Silence reigned for a short time.

"So, tell me about the mutilations," she finally relented.

"Well, it's actually really interesting.” He sat forward and turned towards her, talking with his hands in his excitement. “The farmer said his cattle were found suffering from what looked like extensive bee stings, covered in welts, staggering and clearly in pain. When he locked them up in the barn, the ones who were the worst collapsed. He said he left them hoping to see them recover in the morning, but instead he found them dead in the morning, and each one had had its abdomen cut out, entrails removed, completely hollowed out, without losing a drop of blood on the barn floor. Now tell me how does that happen?"

"Well, most cattle mutilations end up being tied to coyote or mountain lion attacks..."

"But in a locked barn? Full of other cows? What kind of predator goes into a situation like that? And what about the lack of blood at the scene?"

"I don't know," she tightened her grip on the wheel as the tires roared through a puddle of slush in the road.

"AND as if that wasn't enough, there were also mysterious lights in the sky, and one witness puts them directly over the cow barn."

She pulled up to a roadblock. The cars in front of them turned around one by one, but when they got to the roadblock she put down her window and pulled out her badge.

"Officer, we are investigating a case and need to get to Wenatchee tonight, how bad is it?"

"Not too bad, yet," the officer looked over her badge, shining his flashlight on it, and then at her. "If you head straight over, no dilly-dallying, you should be ok. There's a storm coming in though, that's why we're closing it for the night before everything freezes."

She looked at Mulder, who nodded his approval.

"All right, we'll take our chances, officer. Thank you."

"You got it," he said, pulling back one of the reflective sawhorses to make room for them to pass. "I'll radio the other side to watch for you. You're the last one going through."

The windshield wipers kept the snow from accumulating, but the view was still obscured by the heavy flakes coming down, flying towards them lit by the headlights, giving the impression of flying through a field of stars. Scully stared through it with determination, watching the reflectors on the guardrail flash by at the side of the road. Mulder watched the snowy landscape pass by outside the car's windows. "I just have a feeling something big might be going on.” he said thoughtfully. “It sounds to me like someone might be doing experiments on the cattle, and coming back and recovering the results." He tore open a bag of sunflower seeds and placed it in the center console cup holder, grabbed a pinch and stuffed them in his mouth. She heard the soft cracking as he popped them open one by one, then pulled out the ashtray and started dropping the empty hulls in there. It was such a common activity for him, she almost welcomed the sound. It was something she had come to accept as just Mulder being Mulder.

"And who do you think might be doing these experiments?" She knew this was a loaded question.

"Well, the obvious answer, what with the reports of lights and everything,” he looked towards her to see her reaction, “..aliens."

She sighed. "Mulder, you're..."

"Crazy, I know.” He smiled and stuffed another pinch of sunflower seeds between his lips. “You already told me. I'll accept your diagnosis for now Doctor, but be prepared to change it when you see the evidence."

 

\---------------------------------

 

"Was there anything else you can tell me, before the accident?" Agent Peters scribbled notes on his pad.

“Not that I recall. We were both pretty comfortable with quietly riding together. We travel together so much for cases. I think after that I was just driving until the accident.”

He shifted uncomfortably, then tapped his pen on his pad thoughtfully while he stared at it. Finally he stood up. “I’ll be right back,” and was out the door before she could protest. She watched him, puzzled, and could see through the doorway that he had gone to the nurse’s station. A few minutes later he returned with her doctor in tow. The doctor had one hand in his pocket, fidgeting with something. Two nurses came into the room behind him. One went to a small table against the wall at the foot of her bed; the other walked around to the other side of her bed and was adjusting a machine near the window, but making an effort not to look at her. Scully’s eyes darted between the two nurses and the doctor, unclear where this was going but suddenly on high alert.

“Agent Scully, I don’t want you to get too worked up over this, but I’d really like to order a few more tests for you,” the doctor began. She looked back and forth between them, and Agent Peters glanced away, as if afraid to meet her eyes. “I’d really like to have a CT scan done to evaluate you for any head trauma from the accident we may have missed.”

“No. No more tests until you explain to me what’s going on,” she demanded. The doctor finally, reluctantly, signaled Agent Peters to go ahead, but remained next to her bed.

“Agent Scully, I’ve confirmed your identity, I’ve talked to people back in DC. I’ve confirmed that you are indeed an active FBI Agent. But the thing I cannot confirm is that you were pursuing any official case out here, or that your partner came with you. The FBI does not have any requisition on file for your trip.”

“What?” She shook her head as if she hadn’t heard him right. “That’s completely ridiculous”

“It’s not, really.” He moved closer to the bed and pulled some photos out of his notes and handed one to her. “This is a still from the airport terminal security footage, and you can see you got off the plane alone.” She looked at the photo, suddenly feeling a strange tingling all over. Something was very wrong.

“I talked to the airline, and you were flying alone.”

“I wasn’t alone.” She protested. “Mulder was right next to me on the flight. I had the window seat, and Mulder took the aisle so he could stretch his legs.” Agent Peters sat back and watched her skeptically, as if he had been expecting her protest.

He pulled out a printed passenger manifest and showed it to her, pointing out her name on the list. The other two seats in her row were listed as empty. “There was no one else in your row, according to the airline you had it to yourself.” He pulled out another photo, from the baggage pickup. She was standing among the crowd of passengers waiting to pick up their bags, but Mulder was nowhere to be seen.

“The photo must be from when Mulder walked away for a moment,” she began.

“No, no I watched the actual footage. You were alone there. You picked up your bag, and walked away alone.”

“I didn’t. I wasn’t even the one who pulled the bags off the belt, Mulder grabbed them both and handed mine to me.”

He pulled out another picture, this one from the car rental counter, and handed it to her. Again, she stood alone filling out paperwork.

“I know this is wrong, because I didn’t rent the car, Agent Mulder rented it.” She struggled to remain calm, ignoring the chill that was creeping over her arms. Her hands trembled a little as she held the photo. She rolled her shoulders a little to try and shake it off.

“Well, the paperwork I have has your name all over it. Is this your handwriting?” He handed her a photocopy of the rental agreement. Her shoulders slumped as she glanced over it and she felt an uncomfortable tingling in her head, as if reality had just been rewritten. She nodded. It did look like her handwriting, but she was sure she hadn’t touched it.

“This is wrong, this is all wrong,” She had a sudden desire to flee, to get out of this room of lies. Something was happening here, someone was re-writing history, and she needed to get out of the hospital and stop it. All this was becoming a distraction from the real issue at hand: she needed to find Mulder. “This is a setup of some sort.” Her own words convinced her and gave her courage. “I know none of this is true.” She struggled to sit up and swing her legs off the bed, pushing off her blankets.

“Please, stay here,” the doctor blocked her from getting out of bed by placing a gentle but firm hand on her shoulder.

“It gets weirder,” Agent Peters hesitated again, looking at the doctor, then back at his notes.

“What? What could possibly be stranger than what you’ve already told me?” She realized she had raised her voice significantly, in response to the panic she could feel setting in, and noticed the nurses were no longer feigning interest in other activities around the room, and instead had moved into position at the foot and side of her bed. The doctor and Agent Peters penned her in from the other side.

“I called the FBI offices, and they said you do not currently have a partner assigned.” He hesitated before finishing his thought. “And they are unable to confirm the existence of any Agent named Fox Mulder.”

Her head began to spin and she gripped the edge of the bed. The doctor tried to restrain her again and she lashed out, pushing him, which caused the agent and the nurses to join in the fray. Even with her self-defense training, she was no match for the hands that grabbed at her, pinning down her extremities. She didn’t make it easy for them though, and she continued to fight, so she didn’t hear the doctor calling for more nurses, nor did she feel the hypodermic needle as it slipped into the skin of her arm, just before she slipped out of consciousness.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

Her hands on the wheel.

Snowflakes flying towards them out of the darkness.

Wipers pounding furiously across the windshield.

Mulder softly cracking sunflower seeds.

His hand lit by the dash lights as he dropped hulls into the ashtray between them.

The sound of the tires cutting through the slush with a gentle roar.

“I do have a theory,” he began.

“Go ahead,” she sighed.

“The farmer said that when he loaded the effected animals into the barn, he noticed abnormal movements in their abdomen. He said he’s worked with cattle his whole life and he’s never seen anything like this, it looked like something was moving under the skin.”

“Like parasites?”

“Maybe.” He paused to drop empty hulls in the ashtray. “Maybe a single parasite.” She glanced over at him and he was looking intently at her, with that serious look that said he had already thought this out and made his hypothesis. She knew he couldn’t wait to tell her.

“Keep going.”

“You know how some wasps paralyze a tarantula and lay their eggs inside it, and then the eggs hatch and eat their way out from the inside, keeping the tarantula alive as a food source as long as possible?”

“Ugh, Mulder…”

“What if there was a creature that did the same, but at the scale of a cow instead of a tarantula?”

“That’s outrageous!”

“It eats its way out. That could explain the hollowed out carcasses. And maybe it does something with the blood, absorbs it in its incubation or something?”

“Mulder, you know the simplest explanation is most likely the correct one. How about we come up with one that doesn’t require unknown life forms?”

“But wait, it could all fit together. It’s some kind of experiment, and they return to pick up the creatures that have hatched. That would explain the lights in the area.”

“Mulder…” She sighed. “I don’t even know where to start with everything that’s wrong with that theory.”

“Well,” he sat back and looked out the front window again. “We’ll see. When we get to Peshastin.”

“Is that where the ranch is?”

“Yes.” He slipped another pinch of sunflower seeds between his lips. Suddenly he sat forward. “What is that in the road…”

 

\---------------------------------

 

“Dana, how are you doing?”

The Doctor stood in the doorway. Scully could not tell how much time had passed, but she still felt heavy, groggy. The Doctor came in and pulled up a chair.

“Can you answer a few questions for me?” His voice was soft, as if he were talking to a child. Or an impaired adult, she thought. She nodded. “Who is the President?”

“Clinton.”

“Do you know where you are?”

“Seattle, Washington.”

“Where do you live?”

“In Washington DC.”

“What do you do for a living?”

“I’m an FBI agent, and a medical doctor.”

“Do you work with a partner?”

She froze. She knew the answer, but she had a feeling she knew what he wanted to hear.

“No.”

He nodded and made a few marks on her chart.

“Very good, Dana. I want you to know you have been sedated for just over twenty-four hours. We tried to let you come out of it after twelve, but you fought the nurses, so for everyone’s safety we decided to keep you sedated.”

She nodded, feeling very afraid of what was coming next.

“The search and rescue effort at the accident site was called off yesterday afternoon. As expected, they found no sign of anyone else having been in the car with you at the time of your accident. There was no body found at the accident site. Do you understand what this means?”

“Yes.”

“Do you accept that this ‘partner’ you described was not with you?”

“Yes.”

He made another note on the chart.

“Do you understand why I sedated you?”

“Yes, I was acting unreasonable.”

“I sedated you because my diagnosis is that you were having a psychotic break. I was very concerned that you might hurt yourself, or someone else. I think the time to rest has cleared your mind somewhat.”

She nodded. “I do feel better,” she stated simply, hoping that would suffice.

“Excellent. Sometimes these things occur and pass and never happen again. We performed CT scans while you were sedated and did not find any further head trauma from the accident, so I suspect your breakdown is related to stress, and began long before you arrived in Seattle. You have a very high stress job, Dana. I recommend you go home and continue working with your own doctor or I’m sure the FBI has councilors on staff for you to talk to. Clearly something caused you to make up this delusion about a partner.”

She bit her lip and nodded.

He stood up. “All right. You have a visitor. Agent Peters is out in the hall. Shall I send him in?” She nodded. He made a few notes on his clipboard. “I sincerely hope this was just a transient event, but your doctor should take every precaution to determine there is no underlying physical cause. Of course, you understand all this, being a doctor yourself.” He walked over and opened the door, signaling out into the hall. Agent Peters strode in, smiling nervously.

“Hey, how are you doing?”

“All right.” She nervously arranged her blankets, smoothing them out. “Sounds like they’re going to let me out today.”

“I’m sorry we had to ambush you and sedate you. They were just concerned about you. I was too. I know how tough the job can be. I just wanted to stop by and offer to give you a ride to the airport, if it would help. I’ve got your flight information here,” he held the papers in one hand and tapped them nervously against his opposite palm.

“I appreciate that, Agent Peters.”

“Professional courtesy,” he said, setting the papers on her bedside table, a sad look on his face. Pity, she realized. He felt pity for this woman who had come all the way across the country just to fall apart. There was an overwhelming urge to lash out at him, explain the whole thing, or at least what she understood of it, but decided to keep her mouth shut. She really needed to get out of the hospital, and the less she said to him, or anyone here, the better.

“I reported on your condition to my AD, and he tried to contact your AD, but apparently he is out of town. So there is another AD taking over for him on urgent matters.” He gave her a weak smile. “AD Fielding faxed this to the Seattle office this morning for you.” He handed her a folded sheet of paper. She opened it up. On official letterhead was instructions for her to hand her weapon over to Agent Peters for safekeeping, and immediately catch a flight back to DC for a full mental evaluation. She was on administrative leave until further notice.

“My weapon is in the hospital safe.” She said quietly.

“You understand why you can’t carry it home?” She nodded. “We will have it shipped securely back to headquarters in DC.”

“Fine,” she said at last. “If there’s nothing else, why don’t you step out in the hall for a few minutes while I get dressed, and then we can go to the airport?”

He nodded again and disappeared out the door, softly closing it behind him.

When she was alone in the room she pulled the phone into her lap and quickly dialed the FBI offices in DC. She reached the operator and asked to be put through to AD Skinner.

“I’m sorry, AD Skinner is on a trip to a conference at this time, Agent Scully. He is unreachable. Would you like to talk to AD Fielding? He is handling all urgent issues for AD Skinner while he is out of town.” She absorbed that for a moment. The one person in the FBI they probably couldn’t have gotten to, but they had managed to get him out of the way. And AD Fielding? She had never heard of him.

“No, thank you. Can you put me through to Agent Mulder’s office?” She asked.

“What was the name?”

“Agent Fox Mulder.” She listened to the operator typing, looking him up in the system.

“I’m sorry, I do not have a record for an agent by that name. Are you sure he is in the DC office?”

“Pretty sure,” she said quietly. “Thank you,” and hung up the phone. Could the world be so easily manipulated, or was there something to the story she was being fed, that it was actually her that was wrong? The doctor’s diagnosis rang in her ears. A psychotic break. Could the last three years of memories all be part of a delusion?

She dialed Mulder’s phone number, but it went directly to a message that the number was not in service. She slammed the phone down again in frustration. After a few calming breaths, she lifted the handset and dialed another number from memory. It rang twice, and she sat forward in anticipation as she heard it pick up, then fell back against her pillows as she realized it was an answering machine.

“You have reached the home of Margaret Scully...” Scully took a deep breath and closed her eyes, listening to her mother’s voice. Even just the sound of it calmed her. These were all things that remained in their place in the world. AD Skinner existed. Her mother existed. These were real people. And Mulder was a real person, she thought to herself. He was real, and she was going to do whatever she needed to do to find him. If anything, she felt better about Mulder’s disappearance, because now she knew he hadn’t died freezing and buried in a snowbank. He had somehow been made to disappear, and this conspiracy had been put into place to cover it up. She would not rest until she uncovered the people behind it. If Mulder was not alive and well once she had worked this mystery out..well, she could not even consider that right now. The beep brought her back to the present.

“Mom, it’s Dana. Call me as soon as you get this. No matter what time it is. Call my cell. It’s very important. I love you.” She hung up the phone, but left her hand on top of the handset, as if that connection could somehow reach out to her mother, wherever she was, and will her to call.

 

\---------------------------------

 

As she signed the release papers at the nurses station, Agent Peters hovered nearby, but far enough away to give her privacy. Her paranoia told her not to trust him, not to trust anyone. They were far from home, separated, and Mulder was in danger, and she couldn’t expect any help from Peters. She couldn’t expect any help at all, she thought, with frustration.

“Thank you, that is everything I need,” the nurse tore off a copy for her and slid it across the desk. Scully folded it and slipped it into her coat pocket, then grabbed the handle of her suitcase and started down the hall. Peters hurried to catch up.

“Look,” she said as he caught up and walked beside her, “you don’t need to take me all the way down to SeaTac, I can just get a cab.”

“It’s really no trouble. SeaTac traffic is a mess anytime, but especially on a weekday afternoon. I know some shortcuts. Been living here for fifteen years.”

She surrendered to the idea. Either he was genuinely helpful, or he had been ordered to keep an eye on her, Either way it looked like she was going along for the ride. Then another thought occurred to her – what if he was going to make her disappear next? He had already taken her weapon, leaving her unarmed.

“Where are you from originally,” she asked, feeling him out.

“Ohio. But I moved around a lot. Whenever an opportunity to advance came along, I moved wherever I needed to get it. My wife didn’t mind. She enjoyed trying new places.”

Scully felt somehow more relaxed with him talking about his family. “Didn’t the kids mind changing schools? I was a Navy brat, I wasn’t too fond of moving so frequently.”

“No, no kids. Just the two of us. It’s been kind of an adventure. I know what you mean though. Army brat myself. Maybe that’s why I didn’t mind pulling up roots when necessary, I never let them grow too deep. Once we got here though, my wife was like, this is it. Seattle is too beautiful to leave.”

“So what sort of cases do you work on now?”

They reached his car and he popped the trunk and held the lid open while she put her suitcase inside.

“We get a lot of smuggling cases here in Seattle. I work with Customs and Immigration a lot. Port city, you know? And there isn’t so much chasing bad guys as there used to be for me. I let the young agents do all the running and tackling now. I just sort through the paperwork to make sure we can prosecute them. That makes my wife a lot happier anyway.” He slammed the trunk lid and unlocked and held open the door for her. She looked at it a second with a bit of trepidation still. If he was planning to abduct her, he was certainly being easygoing about it. She finally gave him a slight smile and a nod of thanks as she climbed in and he shut the door.

“So how did you get tasked with handling me?” she asked as he climbed behind the wheel.

“I just happened to have my hands free when your accident report came in, and they asked me to find out more about your missing partner for the SAR effort. And then of course when I couldn’t find any record of him...” He went silent for a minute as they got on the freeway. “Look, I don’t know what happened, I just hope you have a full recovery and can get back to work.” They sped down the freeway for a few minutes, but traffic started to back up and he took an exit and proceeded to follow a maze of surface streets. Soon they were racing along a waterfront road, and she could look out at the cold gray waters of Puget Sound flying by, reflecting the bulbous rain clouds above.

“So, what sort of cases do you investigate, primarily?” He asked, as he pulled up to a stoplight.

“Well, my specialty is in forensic pathology, so I frequently investigate murder cases. I spend a lot of time in the autopsy bay.”

“I’m sure that’s very stressful, dealing with that kind of human trauma every day.”

“In a way, but it can also be relaxing. When I’m doing an autopsy it’s just me and the victim. We have procedures to follow, it’s actually a very controlled situation. And it’s interesting. Every case is different, every victim is unique. And I know I have the ability to help provide closure for their families, and prevent other people from falling victim to the killer by gathering evidence. It’s very rewarding. I’m glad I pursued FBI work instead of medicine.”

The maze of backroads he had followed had allowed them to make good progress, and quicker than she expected they were zipping up a road around the backside of the airport. Jets wound up their engines on the runway and took off at regular intervals, all visible from the frontage road they were on. A big cargo plane lifted off next to them and roared up into the clouds, where it disappeared.

A few minutes later he pulled up to the departures terminal and found a spot to double park, popping the trunk lid as he jumped out. By the time she got to the back of the car he had pulled out her suitcase and set it down for her.

“Thanks for the ride, Agent Peters.”

“No problem. Get well, Agent Scully. Have a safe flight home.”

She nodded and turned towards the terminal. The Seattle office had arranged travel, and he had given her the boarding information for the flight. She looked up at the signs over head and started walking towards the terminal with the check-in counters and lines of passengers standing impatiently with their luggage at their feet. She glanced back and saw his car disappearing into traffic, then took a few more steps and glanced back again. Agent Peters was nowhere to be seen, melded into the sea of cars.

She entered the terminal and headed directly to the car rentals section. From there she quickly found the Lariat counter and proceeded to fill out paperwork to rent another car. Half an hour later she had acquired a Jeep, in anticipation of winter road conditions, and was heading down the freeway, bound for Wenatchee. She felt convinced that the only way to find Mulder would be to work the case that had brought them here to begin with.

An hour later she shivered as she passed the crumpled guardrail where her car had slid down the snowy slope only two nights before. Even though it marked the last place she had seen Mulder, she was now certain the clues she needed to find him would be found elsewhere.

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

Darkness punctured by startlingly bright lights.

Faceless men in black riot gear peering at them from behind goggles.

The red dots of laser sights bouncing over their car.

Snow. So much snow.

“Stay here,” Mulder got out of the car and stood in front of it, silhouetted by the spotlights on the black craft that hovered blocking the road ahead of them. He pulled out his badge.

Words were exchanged, men in riot gear charged him and grabbed him roughly, and some sort of weapon was brought out and pressed to his neck.

Mulder crumpled to the ground.

Before she could climb out to help him, a man tore her door open and stabbed her with something in the shoulder, and she collapsed against the steering wheel.

Voices calmly discussing what to do with them.

The trunk of the car opening and closing again.

“Just push the car off the road, down the embankment.”

“What about the woman?”

“If she survives no one will believe her. We’ll make sure of it.”

 

\--------------------------------

 

Scully thrashed herself awake. She found she was laying on top of the bed covers in yet another unfamiliar hotel, her satin pajamas soaked in sweat, the vestiges of a vague but terrifying dream quickly fading from memory.

She sat on the edge of the bed, buried her head in her hands and thought through the problem. There was no way she was going to accept the doctor’s diagnosis. He just didn’t know what kind of forces they were dealing with. No, that sounded like something one of Mulder’s paranoid contacts would say to justify their conspiracy theories. Was Mulder’s disappearance just going to be another conspiracy theory, and she would be the champion of it? She would be the one who people looked at and called a nutcase. Her superiors would shake their heads and say ‘poor Agent Scully, she had such a promising career until her breakdown’. Then they would give her some low-level job doing background checks, something where she wouldn’t need a weapon, and couldn’t hurt anybody.

Would she spend the rest of her life looking for him, and trying to prove he’d been taken? Was he now her Samantha?

 

\---------------------------------

 

“I’m sorry, Miss…?”

“Agent Scully, FBI,” she held up her badge again, and the sheriff across the counter looked at it and rolled his eyes up at her.

“I’m sorry, ‘Agent’, but we do not have any reports from local ranchers about unexplained cattle deaths. That’s not the sort of case we would normally get, unless someone thought their neighbor was poaching their cattle or something.” He looked her up and down in a way she found particularly demeaning. “How did you say you got this case?”

“My partner was contacted by a farmer who asked him to come out and investigate. Because it dovetails with another investigation we have open, we agreed to come see what we could learn from him. The farmer said he had initially gone to the Sheriff’s Office for help.”

“And where is your partner? Doesn’t he have the name of the farmer he talked to?”

She stared coolly at the officer for a little bit longer than necessary. “He is currently indisposed, and I am unable to get that information.”

“Can I see your badge again?”

She flipped her badge out and he looked closely at it, wrote her name and badge number on a piece of paper and tore it off the pad. “I’ll be right back.”

She stuffed her badge back in her coat pocket and rolled her eyes. She had been getting nothing but a run-around from the sheriff’s office in Wenatchee since she arrived that morning. She watched the sheriff cross the room to a phone where he made a phone call, occasionally referencing the piece of paper with her information on it. A voice in her head simultaneously told her she was not getting anywhere here, and warned her that whoever he was talking to might result in her being taken into custody. Technically she was now suspended pending mental evaluation before she would be allowed back in the field. She didn’t wait to find out, turned on her heel and walked out of the sheriff’s office.

The streets were covered in packed snow, and drifts had been pushed up onto the sidewalks by snow plows. The storm that had threatened to close the pass only a few days before had dropped several inches on top of the snow that was already there, and the bitter cold had prevented any of it from melting. She climbed into the Jeep she had rented in Seattle, started it to warm it up, and pulled out a paper map she’d picked up at a gas station. Since the sheriff was no help in locating either the cattle mutilations or any reports of lights, she had one more possibility. On the map she spotted a small town just north of Wenatchee called Peshastin, and she thought she remembered Mulder mentioning it. It was only a half hour further up the valley. Warming her hands in front of the heater vents, she glanced at the map one more time before tossing it aside, and headed off.

She continued rolling over what little she knew about the case in her mind, but there was precious little to go on. Her thoughts wandered to the spectacular snow covered hills, rising up into mountains just to the west of the highway. The scenery out here was amazing and rugged, and she suddenly felt a cold helplessness at the immensity of the world. Mulder could be anywhere. He was a needle in a haystack.

She arrived in Peshastin a short time later, but found it was no more than a wide spot in the road. There was a gas station, a general supply store, and a small cafe lining the main highway. All along the highway she could see orchards stretching off to the nearby snow-covered hills. The ranches she needed to find were probably out there as well, but she would never find them by knocking on doors. She decided to try her luck at the cafe.

The bell on the door rang loudly, announcing her presence, as did the gust of cold wind that followed her. She had to throw a bit of weight against the door to force it closed again. Inside the old fashioned diner there were several men sitting at the wooden counter, and a few more seated in groups of two or three at the row of booths against the wall. Everyone facing the door watched her entrance, and a few who weren’t turned around to watch her as she made her way to an empty spot at the counter.

The middle-aged waitress behind the counter was fiddling with the coffee machine. Scully carefully slid onto the high bar stool, pulling off her gloves and laying them on the counter. When the waitress finally turned to her, she looked Scully up and down, taking in her business suit and long coat and correctly evaluating her as a visitor.

“I’m guessing you need some hot coffee,” she said finally, without a trace of mirth in her voice.

Scully nodded. “That would be a start. I’m also looking for someone.”

“Who?” The waitress’s interest was suddenly peaked. She poured a cup of coffee and pushed it across the pale, speckled formica towards her.

“I understand some of the ranchers out here have had some unusual livestock losses lately. One called our office,” she flipped out her badge for the woman to examine, “and asked for help, but I’ve lost his contact information. I was hoping to find someone who could lead me to him.”

“The FBI?” She made a distasteful face. “The government isn’t usually interested in farm troubles. Why would you care about that? You sure you’re not here for something else?”

“No, what else would I be here for?”

A silence descended over the room and she realized that nobody was talking, and all eyes were on her. She suddenly felt less confident in her choice to pursue this alone, though she was not going to show it.

“I promise you, I am only here to help.”

“Mm-hmm.” The waitress went back to wiping down her prep area on the other side of the counter. “Well, all I can tell you is I don’t know anyone that’s lost any livestock lately that I’ve heard about.”

With that room came back to life with the sound of chairs creaking and people shuffling. A few diners got up and paid their tabs and left, looking back suspiciously at her as they did. She heard someone behind her mutter quietly to another man, “Keep your mouth shut and this will all be over soon.” She turned her head carefully, just enough to see him as he threw money on the table and walked out, the bell clanging behind him.

She broke a couple creamer packets open and poured them into her coffee. The waitress disappeared into the back and Scully heard the clattering of dishes and water running. She almost jumped as she realized someone had slipped into the seat next to her. He had brought his coffee cup and held it tightly between his rough hands on the counter in front of him, staring at it. He spoke quietly without turning to her.

“I might know something about what you’re talking about.” The man next to her was young, dressed in Carhartts and a flannel shirt with a feed store ball cap pulled down tight shading his eyes. He looked at her then looked quickly away. “You wanna come see?”

“It depends on what you have to show me,” she said cautiously. She took a sip of coffee and made it clear she was waiting to hear more. He looked nervously around the room. The waitress came from the kitchen and saw him, grabbed the coffee pot and walked over, refilling his cup.

“Is that all you needed, Kyle?” She stood staring at him, eyes hard, waiting for him to leave the counter. He nodded.

“That will just hit the spot, Mrs Condon, thank you.” He nodded and she stared at him a moment longer, then slowly stepped away and disappeared back into the kitchen.

“I’m not supposed to talk to nobody about it.” He whispered, still looking only at the coffee cup that was steaming between his hands. “My uncle has a cow that went down out in the field today. I helped him winch it up on the flatbed and bring it back to the barn. It’s covered in all kinds of bumps and stuff.”

Scully looked at him, then glanced around the room. The only remaining people did not seem to be paying any attention to them.

“Bumps?” She asked.

“Yeah, like bee stings, just all over. And it sure as hell ain’t bee season. I think it happened to some other folks’ animals too, and those animals died, but they don’t want to talk about it. There's a rumor the government will come quarantine their ranches and destroy all the stock.”

She took another drink of coffee. “I’m just here to find out what’s going on. Can you take me to see it?”

“Yes, mam.” He nodded.

“Let’s go.”

 

 ---------------------------------

 

Scully followed the stranger down a long road off the main highway. As her Jeep bounced along over the snow covered rutted gravel road, she questioned the wisdom of this move. She had certainly been in more dangerous situations many times before, but she had always had the knowledge that Mulder had her back, and that she was armed, and a good shot. Now she was utterly alone, but this was the first break she had had to indicate the case that had started all this might have some substance, and was not just a figment of her imagination. As she followed the truck through an open gate and into a farmyard, she pulled out her phone and checked it – out of service. She sighed to herself as she stuffed the useless device back into her pocket. She really was alone.

She stepped out of the Jeep and felt her boots sink deep into the snow. They had parked behind a large barn, and since the sun had crept down into the threatening dark clouds, the only light came from their headlights, and a large lamp on a post high over the stockyard.

They walked around the back of the barn and the man unhooked the latch on a big door, sliding it open just enough for them to slip through. She immediately sensed the warmth of the animals inside, smelled the distinctive barn odor of manure and hay. He went to the side of the door.

“Let me get the lights…” but he was interrupted by the doors on the far end of the barn being suddenly slid open. The barn was easily a hundred feet long, and beyond all the cattle she could see brilliant lights, the silhouettes of men, and what appeared to be some sort of craft behind them.

“What the hell..WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?” He yelled towards the men, but before he could take more than a step in that direction, the cattle, already agitated, panicked and rushed towards him, away from the strangers and their frightening machine. The farmer raised his hands up and stomped at the cattle. “Hey, hey, HEY!” His motions were a feeble attempt to startle them into changing direction, but there was nothing to do but get out of the way as the animals got closer without slowing down. Scully moved as far away from the door as she could, but found herself cornered. Seeing the exposed wood framing of the barn, she grabbed hold of it and pulled herself up onto the wall. She had only climbed a few feet up the framing, using it like a ladder, when an out of control animal ran into the wall below her, knocking her feet loose, catching the edge of her coat with it’s horns and almost pulling her off the wall. She scrambled and pulled herself up out of danger, clinging tight to the rough framing that dug slivers into her hands. When she had her balance again she looked around.

She didn’t see where the farmer had gone, and she could only hope he hadn’t ended up under the stampede. The barn door was still open just a few feet away from where she had taken refuge. The first cow had hit the narrow opening and the door pivoted from it’s hinge at the top, opening outward. The other cattle saw the escape route and plowed into it, pushed it open from the bottom. She estimated the herd at thirty or so cattle, and they kept coming, trying to throw themselves under the door, some of them slipping and falling, others trampling over top of the fallen ones. They bellowed and cried out, and she could see the fog of hot breath blowing out of their noses in the cold. From her vantage point she could see the cattle, some caught in the pile up, many escaping through the opening. At the far end she could see a scene playing out, silhouetted by the lights from the craft. A single animal was down on the ground, men standing next to it with a large metal crate. The crate appeared to have thick tubes coming out of it, connected to large cylinders mounted on the sides. Some of the men hung back with guns. They closed the crate with a loud metallic clang, and rolled it back to the exit of the barn, towards the waiting craft. Clanging sounds told her something inside the crate was thrashing to get out. The men and crate loaded up quickly, engines wound up, and the craft lifted away out of sight.

The cattle that were able to do so had escaped the barn on her end, and a few who had not escaped lay on the concrete floor, struggling to stand, slipping on blood. Some had legs that were clearly broken as they stood and hobbled painfully through the opening. The door now hung askew, half off its hinge, and through the gap she could see the young farmer outside, now joined by other men, all of who were racing around trying to corral the escaped animals.

She dropped down to the ground and walked to the far end of the barn. Pulling out her flashlight, she looked at the dead cow. It was just as Mulder had described: hollowed out, with not a drop of blood on the concrete around it. She laid a hand on it and found it still warm. Examining the empty cavity, she found no organs, it had been cleaned out down to the musculature.

She pushed the big sliding door open, but there was nothing to be seen in the darkness. The men, crate, and whatever they had flown in on were gone.

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

An hour later she pulled into the motel she had stayed at the night before. Exhausted, dirty and smelling like a cow barn. she walked into the office to rent a room for another night.

Agent Peters stood at the front desk, talking to the night clerk, and turned when she walked in.

“Surprise meeting you here,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Agent Peters,” she slowly shook her head in amazement as she looked up at him. Just her luck, she thought with a sigh. “Vacationing?”

“Not exactly. I’ve been tasked with bringing home a rogue agent who seems to have missed her flight back to DC yesterday afternoon.”

“That is a real shame. I hated to waste the ticket, but I was just not finished with my duties here.”

“I think you may not be thinking clearly about what your duties are.”

“My duty is to find my partner.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” he sighed, watching her as she stood defiant before him. She was certain he was evaluating her for the supposed madness the doctor had diagnosed, but she only gave him cool confidence. Finally he nodded. “I don’t know what you think you are going to find out here, but it’s not your supposedly missing partner. And unfortunately, now I am going to have to take you back to Seattle. I have the FBI jet on standby ready to fly out of the Wenatchee airport as soon as I can get you there. The only question is, will you come cooperatively?”

“I’m investigating the case we came to investigate. Whatever happened to Agent Mulder is directly related to that case. I’m not done here yet.”

“You ARE done,” he stressed. “Don’t make me cuff you, Agent Scully.” His hand hovered around his coat pocket. “You can still go home with your dignity intact.”

“Agent Peters, how long have you been with the bureau?”

“Twenty-six years. Why?”

“I’m sure during that time you’ve had many cases that hinged on your playing a hunch, taking a chance.”

“Of course.”

“That’s all I’m doing. Even though the evidence seems to be against me right now, I can’t stop looking for my partner, because the man I remember deserves more than that.” His expression remained unfazed, and she threw her hands up in frustration. “Fine. If we have to go, let’s go. My things are in my car.”

“Agent Scully, I saw the footage of you alone at the airport. I saw the footage of you renting the car, alone.” He hurried to follow her back out into the snowy parking lot. “I have the documentation to prove it was you who filled out the paperwork. All I have to contest that is your own personal memories. I just don’t think it’s possible. I have to side with the doctor, it seems like you’ve..” he stumbled for the politically correct term, then completed his sentence with a gentler tone “suffered a break with reality.”

She turned on him. “Do I really seem like someone who has lost their grip on reality? Ask me anything about bureau policy and procedures. Ask me about evidence gathering. Ask me about forensics. Ask me about medicine. Ask me anything you want, and I think I will answer you completely and coherently.” She couldn't hide the anger and frustration in her voice. They reached the Jeep and she pulled her suitcase out of the back, slamming the door when she was done. “I don’t know what else I could do to prove it to you. I’m not crazy, and Agent Mulder is not a figment of my imagination.”

He opened the trunk of his government-issue sedan and waited for her to throw her suitcase in before slamming the lid. He was still silent. She climbed in the passenger side without any further drama.

“If I could give you one thing, even one little thing, would you work with me?” She pleaded with him. “Just, give me a chance? I feel like I’m getting closer, but,” she sunk back into her seat and looked out the passenger window, turned away from him as he drove them out of the motel lot. “I just don’t know where to go from here.”

“Go home, Agent. Go home, see your doctor, talk to the FBI councilors, talk to your AD when he gets back. Maybe it will all clear up.”

“That won’t save Agent Mulder. You know as well as I do: the longer we wait to search for a missing person after their disappearance, the less likely the chances of success. If I don’t follow his trail now, there will be nothing to follow, and then we may never find him.”

They arrived at the local airport a short time later. Set on the outskirts of town, it had only a small passenger terminal, and a few rows of hangars farther out away from the terminal and control tower. He drove them through a secure gate and towards the hangars. As they drove past she saw a small white jet plane with no markings except a tail number parked outside one of the hangars. Men were loading it, and one of the items waiting to be loaded was a metal crate, exactly like the one she had seen in the barn. Guards stood at ease nearby, their guns holstered, but their eyes attentively fixed on the crate.

“Who flies out of that hangar?” She asked.

“I don’t know. Some of these are government, some are just privately owned.”

She wrote down the plane’s identification number, writing on the palm of her hand for lack of a piece of paper. She turned around in her seat to look back at it. The men loading it looked military.

“What’s got your interest?” He asked, turning down the next row of hangars. She could see the FBI jet sitting at the hanger.

“Nothing.”

He pulled into the hangar and parked in front of a small office. “You can wait here while the pilot gets the plane ready.”

She sat down in a chair positioned at the front of the office. It was a small room sporting bare, institutional gray walls, with a large window facing out into the hangar. There was a desk with a computer on it, three chairs with their backs to the window facing the desk, a water cooler, and a small filing cabinet. She looked in the direction Agent Peters had gone. He looked like he would be busy talking to the pilot for a few minutes, so she slipped into the chair behind the desk and woke up the computer. It was already logged in.

She quickly pulled up a search engine and did a general search for the number she had copied off the tail of the white plane. She found registration information that indicated the plane was owned by a company in Florida, but searching for more information on that company was a dead end. She searched again, and a link took her to Usenet, where she found a community of plane watchers who logged the comings and goings of airplanes at airports all over the world. The mystery plane was mentioned in several posts. She clicked through them. It had been seen coming and going from Wenatchee Airport frequently over the past month, without any reports on its destination, but it had been seen in two unusual places in the last few days. The night of her accident, it had flown into and out of an airport just East of Snoqualmie Pass, where their accident had been. The next morning it was seen flying out of an airport in Newport, Oregon. After that, it was back in Wenatchee.

As if it had made a special trip to pick up some troublesome cargo, and drop it off somewhere where it wouldn’t be found again easily.

Agent Peters came back in. “The pilot says he should have the plane ready to go in half an hour.”

“Agent Peters, I assume at some point in your career with the FBI you worked with a partner?”

“Of course, I was a field agent for many years.” He sat down in one of the stiff little chairs by the window.

“And I assume you and your partner looked out for each other, watched each other’s back?”

“As partners do,” he nodded. “Your point?”

“Let me tell you a story about my partner. Who you don’t believe exists.” He sat back and crossed his arms. She stood up and started pacing around the room as she thought through what she wanted to say.

“Agent Mulder specializes in pissing people off.” She noted his surprised look. “I’ll be honest. He has spent his career investigating things that people in high places don’t want investigated. Shady sources regularly bring him cases which seem to get him in more trouble than the people he is investigating. There are shadowy parts of our government that operate outside the law, and that’s where he has spent most of his time looking for answers.”

“So you are trying to tell me someone finally made him disappear?”

“That is my theory. He brought us out here to investigate a series of cattle mutilations. Tonight I saw men butchering a cow on a farm, men who were unknown to the farmer, and they got away before I could get close to them. I saw them using a crate exactly like that one that was being loaded into that white plane we passed. Now, I don’t expect we can find out what they were doing with the cattle, but I did a little research on that plane, and the night of our accident it flew out of an airport near the accident site, and landed in Newport Oregon.”

“And now you think your partner might be there?”

“I think it’s worth investigating.”

“Agent Scully, I still don’t have any proof that your partner even exists. Are you telling me the men behind this could have faked all the evidence I saw with my own eyes that showed you coming here alone? Are you telling me they erased an agent from the FBI computers?”

“Yes, it is all plausible, based on the things I have seen in our investigations. They have also conveniently arranged for our AD to be otherwise occupied. I think the hope is that by the time he comes back and we sort out what happened, the trail will be cold and we won’t be able to find Agent Mulder, or at the very least they will be finished with whatever it is they are doing here.”

Agent Peters rubbed a hand through his hair. “So my choices are to believe a widespread government cover up of some sort involving cattle mutilations, with the power to manipulate the FBI itself down to the most intimate details, or that you are not of sound mind? Which one do YOU think I’m going to have to go with? Which one would YOU believe if someone brought the same story to you?”

Scully sighed and sat on the edge of the desk, and let her head hang down. She searched her memory for something, anything that could push him over to her side.

Her phone rang.

She pulled it out of her pocket and looked at it. “Mom!” She sat down in the chair next to Agent Peters, rolled her head back and closed her eyes as she answered the phone. “Mom, where have you been?”

“I was on a little cruise with Bill and his girlfriend. He had a furlough this week. What’s the matter, honey? You sounded upset on the machine?”

“I was, I AM,” she corrected herself. She felt a wave of relief roll over her and she leaned forward, rested her elbows on her knees, and clamped a hand over her eyes, feeling them tear up and forgetting momentarily about the agent sitting next to her. “Mom, I have a strange question, but do you remember my partner?”

“Fox? Of course. What’s the matter?”

“Oh Mom, you have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that.” She wiped at her eyes and took a long shaky breath. This is what she needed, she thought to herself.

“Honey, what’s going on? Is Fox alright? Are you alright?”

“Mom, hang on, I need you to talk to someone for a moment.” She turned and looked at Agent Peters, who was watching her with a mixture of curiosity and concern. “This is Agent Peters from the Seattle office of the FBI. He’s helping me on a case. Just..just talk to him for a minute.” She held out the phone to him.

“Hello, this is Agent Peters, who am I speaking to?” Scully could hear her mother on the other end, just a distant murmur. “Mrs Scully, do you personally know an agent named Fox Mulder?” A pause. “You have actually met him?” A longer pause. “I see. Yes, I understand. Alright, thank you.” He handed the phone back to Scully.

“Dana, what was that about?” Her mom’s worried voice tugged at her heart. During times like this she knew a career in medicine would have been a lot easier on the elder Scully.

“Mulder’s missing. I’ll explain as soon as I can find him. I hope this will all be over in the next few days. Thank you, Mom.”

Agent Peters got up and walked out into the hangar, and she followed him.

“Well, Are you convinced he’s real now?”

Peters nodded.

“What do you say, will you help me?”

“I don’t know. Agent Scully,” he stopped and turned to her. “I’m not a field agent anymore, I haven’t been for years. I’m a desk jockey now. You’re asking me to commandeer bureau resources to pursue an unofficial investigation into the whereabouts of a person the FBI doesn’t even acknowledge exists. We could get in a lot of trouble for this.” He looked towards the jet which was being fueled in front of the hangar. “This could mean my career.”

“A man’s life is at stake. I’ve told you what kind of forces we’re dealing with.” She gave him a long hard look. “If you won’t help me, then just..don’t stop me! Let me go. I can drive and be in Newport by morning. You don’t have to come with me. Tell them I got away from you again.”

He fidgeted, struggling with himself. He rubbed the back of his neck, pushed a hand through his hair. He looked at her and looked at the plane.

“I’ll give you one day to find him.” With that pronouncement he strode over to the plane. Scully followed confidently behind as he waved the pilot over. “The investigation has taken a turn, we need to fly to Newport, Oregon instead.”

“No problem,” the pilot nodded.

“No problem,” Agent Peters echoed, glancing at the persistent woman at his side. “No problem at all.”

 

 ---------------------------------

 

No matter where they went in Newport, they could hear the sound of the ocean pounding on the beach. Scully pulled the collar of her coat up to defend her face from the frigid wind as much as she could. It was near midnight, bitter cold with the wind chill, and Scully had no idea what exactly they were looking for, but she had a feeling it was here.

Their first stop had been the hospital. They checked to see if any John Does had been brought in over the last few days, but there were none. They of course checked under his real name as well, just in case. They stopped at the police department, flashed their badges and did the same, again, striking out. Now, they had been reduced to walking while she waited for some bit of inspiration to strike her. She mulled over who had taken him, why they would have brought him here. Maybe they hadn’t brought him here. Maybe they had killed him and dumped his body off a cliff in the mountains where she would never find him, and their flight to Newport was completely unrelated. She shook her head, she wouldn’t entertain such thoughts. Not yet.

“Did you say something?” Peters asked. He had let her lead the investigation so far, following along and only occasionally sighing about the career he used to have.

“No, just thinking.” She stopped, her hands in the pockets of her long coat, the bottom of it billowing outward. “I don’t think we’re going to get any farther tonight. Maybe we should call it a night and start again in the morning.”

“Whatever you think. There are a number of motels on the main strip.”

She nodded and they continued walking. The main part of town was full of buildings constructed in the 1930s. They walked past the art deco facades, hardly seeing them, not noticing the thin alleyways that disappeared into the darkness between buildings.

“Red!” She heard a voice from the darkness. She glanced at Peters, and pulled out a flashlight, turning towards the alley.

Someone scurried away and she heard the voice again in the distance, trailing away - “Red! Red!” The alleyway was more protected from the wind and she stepped over garbage and cardboard boxes which had been someone’s shelter. She could hear a person running, and she followed the sounds and the shadows as they opened out into a bigger alleyway behind the buildings.

“Red!” An old man stood several yards away, near a wall covered in graffiti. They approached him cautiously.

“Sir?” Scully asked, hesitantly. He pointed at the wall, leaned a hand on it, out of breath from running.

She glanced again at the graffiti and this time stopped in her tracks. The section of the wall was lit by a streetlight mounted on the wall high above, and centered in the cone of light was a fresh drawing which overlapped the older graffiti, nearly life size, of what she could only describe as herself. A figure with a long flowing black trench coat, and bright red hair on a faceless head stared back at them.

Peters walked up to the wall and looked at it closely, glancing at her with surprise. “Did you draw this,” he asked the man. The old man shook his head, then jutted his chin out and indicated something farther down the hill with a jerk of his head. He started walking and Scully and Peters followed.

The old man took them down a path that cut through a vacant lot to a field behind the buildings. As they passed more homeless people who were camped out in the field she heard them whispering and exclaiming surprise at her presence.

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

“She’s real.”

The old man continued down to the bottom of the hill where the trail came out onto the cannery row. Fancy restaurants, now closed for the night, alternated with fish processing plants and she could smell the raw fish, and hear the barking and splashing of sea lions somewhere nearby in the bay. He ducked between two buildings and pointed down a pier that ran out towards the water. Scully looked at him and looked down the pier. Lamps were strung overhead, dimly illuminating the walkway, and at the far end she could just make out a dark shape. Someone was sitting on the deck, watching the water. She started walking, but quickly found herself speeding up until she was running, her feet slipping on the wet wooden planks.

At the end of the pier she stopped. A man was indeed sitting, wrapped in a black trench coat, wet and filthy, staring out at the water and rocking gently forward and back. She took the last couple steps almost hesitantly.

“Hello?”

He turned and looked up at her, and she fell to her knees next to him.

“Mulder!” She had to have her hands on him, confirm he was real. She grabbed his arms, his shoulders, ran her hands over the sides of his face and through his wet hair feeling for injuries. He did the same, grabbing at her arms and running his hands over her like a blind man, seeing something for the first time. He surprised her by grabbing her in a bear hug, almost pulling her over, and she realized he was laughing, or crying, she couldn’t tell. She heard Peters’ footfalls as he caught up.

Mulder pulled away and looked at her, still speechless. He ran a hand over her face, brushing her hair back. His hand shook, his whole body was shaking, shivering. He smelled like the sea, and his clothes were soaked through. She immediately wondered if he was hypothermic.

“Are you ok, Mulder?” She still had a hold of him by the arms, and he nodded awkwardly, bobbing his head as if he were not quite in control of his faculties. She ran a hand against his stubbled cheek again, and he closed his eyes and leaned into her. She turned to Agent Peters. “Call an ambulance!”

Peters nodded and pulled out his phone, turning away.

“Mulder,” she stopped, finding she didn’t have any words for what she wanted to say. She just let him lean against her, and wrapped her arms around him, feeling the bone-deep shivers that ran through him. This was more than just cold, she thought.

Peters dropped his phone back in his pocket, and bent down to help grab Mulder and stand him up. “The ambulance is on the way.” He got one of Mulder’s arms over his shoulders and leveraged him up onto his feet. Scully hung onto his other side, and felt a pill bottle in his pocket. She pulled it out and held it up to the light.

“What is it?” Peters asked.

“A drug typically used for schizophrenics. Unfortunately the side effects for people who are not schizophrenic includes hallucinations, confusion, and susceptibility to suggestion.” She rattled it in front of Mulder until his eyes focused on it with recognition. “Did they tell you to take these?” He nodded.

She shot a look at Peters. “These people had no compunctions about kidnapping and drugging a federal agent.”

“But why would they go through all this trouble,” Peters muttered.

“To hide whatever they were doing to the cattle. By the time we go back there, it will be all over, and there will be no evidence to collect on whatever happened.”

She could hear the ambulance siren coming down the cannery row, and could see the flashing red lights reflecting off the buildings. “Mulder, we’re going to take you to a hospital, you need to get these drugs out of your system.”

They reached the end of the pier where the ambulance was waiting, and the medics met them at the truck. Scully showed the pill bottle to one medic, while the other pulled out the gurney, and they helped her and Peters lower Mulder down onto it, stripping off his coat. By the floodlights on the back of the ambulance, she could suddenly see just how disheveled he was. The EMTs started to lay him back, but he struggled, fighting them. Scully stepped in.

“Relax, let them help you.” She placed her hands on his shoulders and caught his gaze, and he immediately stopped struggling. One medic rolled up Mulder’s sleeve and started strapping a blood pressure cuff on him. “It’s ok, Mulder.”

He nodded eagerly and grabbed her arms and pulled her towards him. With his face only inches away, his hazel eyes locked with hers. He seemed to struggle to form words, and finally he spoke in a coarse whisper.

“They told me I imagined you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos, comments, and criticisms are very much appreciated. Seriously, it makes my day just to know someone read this after so much work.


End file.
